The Other Secret
by Poncho D
Summary: Oneshot. My entry for the MartinRose contest. First two scenes are set during MtW, final one is at the very end, right before Mossflower opens. Rated T for very subtle adult themes. Scene breaks added.


My entry for the Martin/Rose contest.

Poncho D

-

"No."

The single, simple word would have broken the heart of any other creature in Martin's place. It would have been like a door slamming; a harsh, simple sound—and absolutely final. But not Martin. He had expected it, and come prepared.

There in the Council building, Chief Urran Voh stood at the window, on the opposite side of the long, beautifully carved table from Martin.

The old building smelled of strong wood smoke, and pale yellow morning sunlight slanted through the open windows. Beyond the windows, the countryside was the most incredible, vibrant shade of green; a jewel, almost neon tone beneath the azure sky.

Just the other night, Martin had loved this place that now seemed so forbidding. He had laughed and feasted here with his friends, both erstwhile and new; Grumm and Pallum, and the Lady Ariyah.

And Rose.

Despite Urran Voh's unwavering politeness and hospitality during their introduction, Martin could sense beneath the smiling features, raised whiskers, and neat gray beard, the fact that the Chieftain new that his daughter and the well-built warrior mouse beside her were more than just newfound friends. And so, Martin thought, Urran must have been expecting this, too.

"Sir," Martin began. "Please understand, I love Ro—

"Yes, Martin, I know that," Urran interrupted gently, as gently as one could when cutting somebeast off in mid-sentence. "You are a very brave lad, and I've no doubt that you could care for her and protect her at least as much as any other creature, if not more." He shook his head. "But my decision is final. I'm sorry, Martin, but I won't hear of it." His features softened, though his words did not. "Rose and I have already had this discussion. I will not give my daughter to one who will surely leave her a widow."

It was too late for that, Martin thought ruefully. Two nights ago, they had made love under the stars, near a little stream about a mile up the valley; Rose had given herself to him already. Martin kept his expression under careful control. Chief Urran Voh would be furious if he guessed it.

"Give her?" Martin repeated. He kept his voice low, lest the chieftain sense any disrespect. "How can one give a away a living, breathing creature? Chief Urran Voh, I know that she is your only daughter, and the apple of your eye. I'm sure I would feel the same way in your position. But Rose is not a child anymore, neither is she merely a part of your wealth, like the gold in your coffers…"

The warrior suddenly stopped himself, realizing what he had just implied. He had not intended any insolence, but there it was.

The chieftain whirled on him. "Is that the kind of creature you think I am?" he snapped. "How dare you! I have opened my home to you, given you lodging, and fed you and your companions from my own larder, " he raged. "And you repay my hospitality by defying my authority when I kindly asked you to disarm yourself, and now you have the…_presumption_ to ask for my daughter's hand?"

Martin controlled his legendary temper, refusing to be fazed by the Chief's tirade. He bowed his head respectfully. "I am very sorry, sir. I meant no disrespect." He lifted his head again. "But in fact, the real decision belongs to Rose herself. I came to ask for your blessing, not your permission."

Urran eyed the mouse for a moment, and decided that he indeed had not meant to be insulting. "Very well, Martin. You were only trying to make a point. I apologize for my churlishness." He paused for a moment. "Come, sit here."

The Warrior obeyed, settling himself in the big comfortable chair, wondering what was coming next.

"Martin, you command respect as much as I," Urran began, looking at the mouse with a gentle expression, "When you came here, I asked you to put aside your weapon, and so you did, but only after being asked respectfully, and in the proper fashion. You are a warrior, Martin, and anybeast of your trade would have done the same in your place." The chieftain leaned back in his chair. "I would make one last request of you. You will refuse, but I will ask it anyhow, if only for argument's sake."

He laid his paw on Martin's beseechingly. "Just as you did with your sword, put aside this notion of marrying Rose. I know you cannot tell it now, but in time your heart will heal, and perhaps even another maid will take her place."

Martin stood, answering without hesitation. "It is just as you said, sir. You are truly a good creature, and a wonderful father." He shook his head. "But I cannot do what you ask."

"Very well, then. Do what you must." Urran returned to the window, gazing out at the countryside, as he had been before. "Rose will marry you if you ask her," he said quietly, voice full of melancholy. "I know her so well." He turned back to Martin. "You say that you sought my blessing, not my permission. The opposite I give you. You are right; I cannot make Rose's choices for her anymore. But know this: I dearly would rather she was wed to a peaceful Noonvale mouse, whose life was not threatened wherever he went.

To Martin's great surprise, the old mouse stepped forward and embraced him. "Good fortune to you, Martin the Warrior. And may the seasons be kind to you, on whatever road your life takes."

-

"Yes."

Martin was momentarily taken aback by her quiet response. He had half-expected her to throw her arms around him and knock him to the ground with elation.

They were not in her room; her parents would never have allowed it. They sat together in the grass, in a familiar spot under an alder tree, by a little brook. The day was cool for the season. A lovely breeze blew, stirring the tops of the trees, and occasionally making little caps of white foam in the stream. Woodlanders walked about here and there, little ones playing their games, and adults going about their business.

"Rose?" He put a paw under her chin, and titled her face up to look at his. Her mouth was posed in a smile, but her eyes were glassy. He took her in his arms, and held her, lest she start to cry. "Rose, what's wrong?" he asked, stroking her back. "Don't you want us to get married?"

"Of course I do," she whispered into his shoulder. She made no sniffling sounds or sobs. Had it not been for the spreading wetness he could feel on his tunic, he would not have known she was crying at all. Rose was not given to big displays of emotion. Except, he thought, with a blush and a rueful grin, when it was quite appropriate.

She released him and turned to look at her reflection in the water. "It's just…my father. He'll never admit it, but he doesn't approve of you, Martin."

He nodded. "I know. But I think you misunderstand him, Rose. It's not me personally that he disapproves of." He reached out and touched her cheek. "I asked him, Rose. He didn't like it, but he promised not stop us."

Rose shook her head. "He couldn't have stopped us anyway. It's the future that worries me." She turned to him, and he saw her tears now. "Great old worrywort that he is, he's still my father, Martin. I love each of you, though in different ways. Yes, I will marry you, if we survive this battle. But I can't bear to think of Father going to his grave still bitter over a choice that I made."

He put his arm around her shoulders, and kissed the crown of her head. "I don't think he will. Your father is hurting right now, Rose, but it is a natural pain; you mustn't blame yourself. This is what adults do, Rose. We grow up, leave our families behind and start lives of our own."

"Yes," Rose muttered, looking at the soil between them, "Lives of our own."

Suddenly, she looked up at him, and took his paw in hers. "There is something I've been waiting to tell you about."

-

The world was cloaked in snow. But it was not one of the bright, beautiful, snowy days of Noonvale, now untold leagues behind him. Here the sky was a dull leaden gray, tinted with purple on the horizon. The dead trees before him looked like frozen forks of black lightning, cold and ugly.

Three seasons had passed. The Battle of Marshank had come and gone. Badrang was dead, his fortress destroyed, and the slaves freed. And Martin the Warrior, wise but not yet wise enough, had learned the true cost of war. For all the good that had been done, that battle had exacted the one price he was not willing to pay.

It was getting late, and Martin prepared to camp for the night. As he pitched his tent and started scraping rocks in an attempt to get a fire going, his thoughts turned, as they often did, to the land and people he had left behind. Rowan, Pallum, Grumm, Ballaw, and many others. They were the only ones who knew of his secret pain, and the only ones who ever would. In return, he had sworn to tell nobeast of Noonvale. The grief there would be strong already; he could not live with himself if further trouble came to that wonderful place.

But there was also a secret that Martin alone carried, and that he alone would bear for the rest of his life, wherever his wanderings took him. The others may one day learn that he and Rose were engaged when that black-hearted coward murdered her, but they would never know that two lives had been lost when her head struck that stone wall.

As he slept, Martin dreamt of his child; a son in his dream. He was a chubby little mousebabe with Martin's eyes and fur color, and Rose's smile.

But dreams that are remembered come only right before awakening, and Martin once again said goodbye to his son, and opened his eyes. He was soon traveling again.


End file.
